


this was exactly you

by kathleenfergie



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s06e07 A Good Man Goes to War, Gen, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hates that she understands what it is like for him to be the last one standing, that she knows what it means to be utterly and completely alone. He hates that he knows exactly who she is to him, that he's known it for hundreds of years, since the day she died for him, whispering her name into his ear as he wept. s6ep7. oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this was exactly you

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is a new DW oneshot set in series six because I like to relive the times when I actually liked this show. Set in A Good Man Goes to War. Really rant-y but I like it. I know it ends abruptly, but that's kind of the Doctor's modus operandi isn't it? Hope you like.
> 
> I don't own shit.

"This? This wasn't me!" He cries, and yet she is still standing there in front of him with a face like stone, almost a reflection of the remorseful soldier he himself has become.

"This was exactly you," she replies in a strict, clinical tone, as if she's reciting a fact that she expects him to know already. He wonders how hard she is working to keep malice out of her voice.

For him, it is harder not to look at her and keep himself from ripping her apart in his blind anger. He is angry because this time he is not the only person in the room who understands the hurt, the rage, and the sadness that swirls inside of him; he knows that she understands him all too well, and this frustrates him because he has no clue who or what this woman is and _why why why_ wasn't she here to help?

He hates that she understands what it is like for him to be the last one standing, that she knows what it means to be utterly and completely alone. He hates that he knows exactly who she is to him, that he's known it for hundreds of years, since the day she died for him, whispering her name into his ear as he wept. He longed to weep again, for all of this.

He doesn't give a damn about the cot as she bounces over to it, he only wants to pull on that curly mass of hair and strangle her until she gives him the answers he wants to think he deserves. He doesn't care about the Gallifreyan written on the cot - _of course he can read, what a stupid question to ask_ \- he only cares that she looks at it with such fondness, as if her own children slept in it. The thought sickens him as he thinks of the children who died because he was so foolish and so unwise that he couldn't save them, all those years ago.

After she smiles at, however, it clicks.

It's not even a smile, more of a smirk really because all she can be right now is smug, that she's fooled the great warrior she was born to kill. She looks to her mother who doesn't understand a word, who shirt is still stained with the liquid flesh that was an infant version of herself, and who tears are still flowing freely, the Centurion standing feet behind her.

All he can do is jovially flutter around and spin, all he can do to keep the fire inside him from spurting out, to keep from blasting the head off the woman who is still so mysterious to him even though he knows now where she comes from, even though he knows exactly who she is. Now that he's learned, he thinks that he no longer wants the knowledge.

So he kisses his companion's forehead and he leaves with empty promises of safety; he cannot stay to see the wreckage that he has produced tonight. He does not need to snap at his box, she knows to close his doors, that he needs the a barrier between him and his failure. She hums as he reaches the console, her wordless comfort was washing off his back as he gripped the metal contraption in front of him. For a moment, he forgets how strong he is, the screech of his machine alerting him to what he has done. He doesn't bother to look at the deep imprints his hands have made before he flips fandom switches, turning any knob that he pleases, sending his home into the oblivion.

He does not move as the jolts of travel make him feel sick, except to bring his hands to his face, where he knows there will be a salty wetness. He has not sobbed like this since the Time War; since he was unable to finish his sentence on that damned beach; since the day a woman who whispered his name into his ear lovingly became immortalized in a computer.

He likes to think that he is made of stone; that he is fire, and ice, and rage in one unit, but he knows that he is weak in mind and in his hearts, just like she is, even though she stands with the confident facade of a soldier. So like her father, he thought. He knows, though, that she is a crumbling wall and he is but one of the many spectators hammering it down.

So he sobs and sobs for the little girl he knows will be brought up under the command of an evil woman in an eyepatch, with Silents for playmates, psychopathy as her career. He weeps for the girl who will meet with a bullet by her mother's hand. He wonders if that's why she's so fond of guns.

He hates that she is a warrior like her father, like him; he wishes to spare her their fate on that Utah beach but he knows he cannot, only because she told him not to. _Not one line, don't you dare._ And he won't. He won't change a thing, even if it kills him - _which, spoilers, it technically will_ \- because she asked and she knew his name and because he is a good - _at least for the moment_ \- man he will follow her wishes. It tears at him as he flies off into space and time, to nowhere in particular, his box making crooning noises that he cannot find the energy to respond to.

All he can think is Amy, _oh Amy Amy Amy_ is going to be livid when she finds out that he will do nothing to find her precious baby, even though he _promised_ and he is _so sorry, Amy, so sorry_ , yet he cannot bring himself to do what she needs, not even when her daughter has been tortured by religion since birth. He knows this, and he will do nothing.

No amount of hugs in a cornfield will change the amount of sorrow he feels for her in those moments where he enacts Rule One _over and over and over_ again to her bright, Scottish eyes; the eyes that first saw his face and the only eyes that will believe his lies because of the blind faith they hold in him.

He rips at himself, tugging on his hair that isn't ginger, removing his _stupid stupid_ bowtie that cinches his neck, suffocating him. He rages aloud to his box, screaming and weeping for his companions, for her, the woman who was such a mystery, yet he knew everything all along. He brings his hands down upon the console again and again, smashing small contraptions, sending pieces of metal scattering to the platform at his feet. He ruins it all, ruins a console for the sake of that damned woman, for her poor mother, and for the days he cannot rewrite.

He makes so many promises, he does, and each one is accompanied by Rule One; he thinks to himself later, after his internal storm has calmed, that he should like to keep his promise to her, for once.

_Not one line, don't you dare._

He does, although it hurts his heart. He does, though he repeats the pained look in her eyes when he watched her die, the realization that he knew _everything_ from the beginning, the acceptance of his betrayal causing tears to run down her cheeks. She asks him to change nothing because she knew that he could have. Could have saced her. But he didn't, because she asked.

_Not one line, don't you dare._

He carries that memory on him like a tattoo, seared into his skin, flaring with every thought of her. The pain comes, now that he knows exactly who she is. The reason she knew his name. He thinks of the Ponds and the scared look in Amy's eyes. He knows that from now on he will keep the words _I killed your daughter_ inside him forever, that he will never let them exit his lips.

It will hurt, but he can never say it. He can never repent.

And he doesn't.


End file.
